


Interlude: i've got so much left to say

by ruffboi



Series: Into the Jaskierverse [13]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Comfort, Healing, Multi, Mute Jaskier | Dandelion, Nightmares, Platonic Cuddling, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, Soft Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, but not too much, listen they're all so soft okay?, mostly it's just a lot of softness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:53:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26862433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruffboi/pseuds/ruffboi
Summary: The light and shadows start to clear into dappled sunlight through leaves, and the familiar forms of Geralt and... well,himselfabove him. Geralt standing, his silver sword drawn, the other Jaskier knelt at his side... gesturing frantically.He then aborts the motion with a frown at Geralt and snaps for his attention. While Geralt doesn't sheathe his sword, he does shift the focus of his gaze to the gesturing man, who nods and resumes gesturing."You're safe," Geralt growls, as if the words are being torn from him unwillingly. "You have my face, and we'll want answers for that, but you look like you're in trouble. We won't hurt you if you don't hurt us."or; Jaskier finds himself in a gentler place than the last, and lets himself be helped and comforted.----Non-canonically in the universe ofso many songs to sing you
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Into the Jaskierverse [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1895545
Comments: 57
Kudos: 326





	Interlude: i've got so much left to say

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [And Yet, Here We Are](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23277634) by [ruffboi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruffboi/pseuds/ruffboi). 



> This is set in my series "so many songs to sing you", some time after the second main fic which is still being written. For those who haven't read the first fic (linked as inspiration), the Jaskier from this universe is mute due to the djinn incident, and communicates with sign language.
> 
> Please enjoy this very very soft fic to make up for how much fuckin angst there's been. ♥

It's too much.

It's too much and as Jaskier's pulled apart again, _again_ , as Ashwood pours magic into him, he wonders if this time he won't pull back together again. If this time might pull him apart so thoroughly there's nothing left to reform in the next world.

Maybe it's some grace of the universe that all conscious thought seems to white out, that he can't remember the feeling (this time) of being pieced back together.

His ears are ringing and his eyes won't focus as he comes back to himself with something solid under his back. There are hands on him, and he remembers the sparking pain that his touch had caused Eskel and jerks, trying to pull away but not yet coordinated enough to quite control how he moves.

The touch doesn't retreat, simply presses gently on his shoulders until he stops moving, and then releases. No screams of pain seem to filter through his wavering hearing. He hopes that's good.

"Move _back_ , Jaskier," he hears a familiar voice growl, and he doesn't know whether he wants to laugh or sob at the sound of it. There's no response that he can hear, but there's still a frustrated growl from above him. "It's an illusion, a glamour, a doppler, _something_ that you shouldn't be in arm's reach of!"

_Who is he arguing with?_ Jaskier wonders, and squints into the light above him, trying to will his eyes to focus.

The light and shadows start to clear into dappled sunlight through leaves, and the familiar forms of Geralt and... well, _himself_ above him. Geralt standing, his silver sword drawn, the other Jaskier knelt at his side... gesturing frantically.

"What?" Jaskier tries to ask, but it comes out as a wordless croak, and the other him's head whips around to focus on him, pressing a hand to his shoulder again, then starting to gesture.

He then aborts the motion with a frown at Geralt and snaps for his attention, which causes Geralt to curl his lip and rumble unhappily. But while he doesn't sheathe his sword, he does shift the focus of his gaze - mostly - to the gesturing man, who nods and resumes gesturing.

"You're safe," Geralt growls, as if the words are being torn from him unwillingly. "You have my face, and we'll want answers for that, but you look like you're in trouble. We won't hurt you if you don't hurt us."

Jaskier frowns, looking from Geralt to himself and back a few times, trying to get any of this to make sense. Does he look like Geralt now? He tries to reach up to his hair, to try to gauge whether it was long and white now, but moving _aches_ , and he groans despite himself. He can see the movement of the other him's hands fluttering in the air a bit, and hears Geralt say something else stiffly and unhappily before his vision greys out and he gratefully lets himself fall back into unconsciousness.

* * *

"He's human, there's no glamour, but he absolutely _reeks_ of magic, a lot of it... unpleasant."

He wakes to Yen's voice and something soft under his back, and when he opens his eyes he's able to focus them almost immediately.

"Who the fuck is he?" That’s recognizably Geralt's growl, clearly still unhappy with the situation.

"I don't know," Yen admits. "What I could get from his mind _says_ he's Jaskier, but..."

"Hmm," Geralt hums, and Jaskier huffs weakly. All Geralts must be a certain level of reticent, it seems.

There's movement out of the corner of his eye, and he turns his head cautiously to spot the other him, who's approached with a cup and a sympathetic smile. He looks young, far younger than Jaskier himself is now, maybe even younger than he'd been in Rinde, oddly. He wonders how this version of himself met Yennefer, then.

He reaches out to take the cup, filled with _blessed_ water, pushing himself up onto his elbow with some effort. Other-Jaskier immediately slips an arm behind his shoulders and Jaskier flinches, not wanting to hurt anyone, but his body stays in one piece, and while the boy looks concerned, he doesn't look _pained_ at all.

And Jaskier _really_ could use that water.

"He's up," he hears Geralt say, and as he empties the cup, he sees both Geralt and Yennefer appear in the doorway of the (rather lavish, he's noticing) bedroom he and his double are in.

" _Well_ , you may or may not be who you think you are," Yen says, "but it's a relief to see you conscious, at least. I _told_ you I hadn't lost my touch," she adds to Geralt, smacking his arm lightly. He feels Other-Jaskier shaking, and glances over to see him, oddly, laughing completely silently, other than the soft exhale of breath.

"I can sit," he rasps, and shrugs Other-Jaskier's arm off. Not unkindly, but... well, it's more than a little odd to be looked after by his alternate self. The boy nods, makes sure he's steady, and then steps back, making those same sorts of gestures at Geralt that Jaskier'd seen earlier.

"I'm not saying that," Geralt tells him. Other-Jaskier gestures again, his movements sharp and his scowl irritated.

"Jaskier says hello and wants to know why you look like him but old," Yen says. "I wasn't able to make much sense of your mind, so I'm hoping you're not so scrambled you can't tell us yourself."

Jaskier clears his throat, frowning slightly. "Um," he says, wishing for a bit more water to try to ease the roughness of his voice. "I... it's a long story, involving multiple worlds and versions of us? You? I'm sort of... lost."

There's a long silence in the room, and Jaskier flicks his gaze between the three of them. Geralt is standing so still he may as well be made of marble, his expression frozen the way he does when he's trying not to betray an emotion. Other-Jaskier has turned away from him completely, head bowed slightly. Only Yen seems to have largely not been somehow taken aback by his answer, though her eyes flick to the other two briefly before settling back on him.

"So you're Jaskier, but from a different version of the world?" she asks smoothly. He nods. "Fascinating. And clearly impractical. Boys, go get some food for our guest while I question him about magic?" she says, addressing Geralt and Other-Jaskier. Other-Jaskier nods, not looking back at him, and practically flees the room, Geralt's frozen expression deepening into a frown as he follows out.

"Did... I say something wrong?" Jaskier asks slowly, and Yen steps forward with a pitcher to refill his cup.

"Not exactly. Now, tell me what led you here, and then I'll explain why you've upset them."

Jaskier sighs. "Well, it started with Ciri..."

* * *

Yen seems almost overwhelmed, for Yen, when he's finished, and they sit in silence for a moment. At some point during his recounting, Geralt had slipped in with a tray of food, and slipped back out again, hesitating in the doorway for just a moment, watching him with a strange sort of sadness. Jaskier didn't want to think about it too much.

"Well, that's... a hell of a story, if it's true," Yen says finally. "I'll see if there's a way I can try to bleed off some of the chaos you've picked up, maybe it'll stabilize you somewhat, but I'll have to be cautious not to let it out into the ether. I'll need to do a bit of research."

"That's fine," Jaskier says wearily. "If you can't, it won't be any worse than every other attempt to help I've been given."

"And if I can, I'll be the most useful of the people you've sought help from, and that would make me _quite_ pleased." Yen smiles, just a small thing, and he can't help but give her a weak smile in return. _That's_ a familiar sort of attitude, at least.

"You..." he starts hesitantly, glancing toward the closed door. "You said that..."

"That I'd explain them? I did." Yen stands and brings the tray over, finally allowing him to eat now that he doesn't need to speak. "I suppose it begins in Rinde."

" _Rinde_?" Jaskier asks, the word almost startled out of him. "But he... I... _he_ can't be older than twenty-two at most! I know I've a baby face, but really? I must've been solidly into my 30s when we had the... _djinn_ incident."

Yen tilts her head slightly, pursing her lips. "Well, good to know I don't have to explain _that_ debacle in full. No you're quite right; he doesn't look it, does he? I haven't quite worked that one out, yet. I'm not sure Geralt's noticed, even. But it does, indeed, start in Rinde"

She leans back in her chair with a sigh. " _Your_ Yen... clearly had better luck with the djinn magic than I did, I'm afraid to say," she admits, pressing her lips together into a thin, displeased line. "I was able to save his life only by twisting the shape of the djinn's spell. The silence of the grave traded for silence of the _voice_."

Jaskier feels like she's sent ice running down his spine. "He... can't speak?" he asks, almost a whisper.

"No," Yen says. "Not for... nearing a decade now." She tilts her head slightly. "I've never heard his voice, but I assume you must sound rather similar, judging by Geralt and Jaskier— _my_ Jaskier's reactions."

Jaskier rubs his face and eyes the bread and cheese in front of him. He's not sure if he's the stomach for it after all.

"The... the gesturing, then," he says. "That's a kind of communication?"

"A kind of sign language created in Mahakam," Yen says with a nod. "There are many who lose their hearing in the great foundries, and it's easier to communicate through the racket if you don't have to raise your voice above it. They spent a year there learning it."

Jaskier blinks, trying to wrap his head around Geralt staying somewhere for a year simply to learn to _communicate_.

"Huh," he says. "That's... huh."

"Mmm," Yen hums in agreement. "Finish your food. Your body's been through a lot, it needs the fuel. I'll draw you a bath and one of the boys will help you manage it."

Jaskier frowns, gnawing on the inside of his lip. "I don't wan—"

"You don't want to upset them, I know," Yen interrupts, waving him off as she stands and moves to a small door that must lead to an adjoining bathroom. "They're made of sturdier stuff than that. Anyway, I'll make sure they're all right while you _eat_ ," she says pointedly, arching an eyebrow before doing _something_ in the bathroom that Jaskier assumes is something magic to fill a tub with hot water. She then waits until she sees him actually take a bite of bread before nodding slightly to herself and leaving the room.

He's made his way through most of the food when Other-Jaskier bustles into the room, looking for all the world like he's going to fuss over Jaskier like he's Geralt injured on a job.

"First of all," Geralt says, with just a hint of emotiveness to his voice, as Other-Jaskier gestures widely, "you can call me Dandelion, since we can't both be Jaskier and you deserve some normalcy to cling to."

"All right," Jaskier says quietly, and Oth— Dandelion beams at him. Jaskier recognizes some of the little fidgets that betray the fact that Dandelion is still a bit upset under his cheerful facade, but he's not going to deny this version of himself a semblance of dignity in the face of all of this, so he says nothing.

"Second of all," Geralt translates, "I'm going to help you with your bath because it's nothing I haven't seen before, and Geralt's too— _Jas_!"

Dandelion stops, puts his hands on his hips, and just _stares_ at Geralt, one eyebrow raised. The two stare at each other for a long moment before Geralt cracks, looking up to the ceiling briefly as if praying for patience.

"And Geralt's too embarrassed to," Geralt mutters, decidedly put-upon. Dandelion pats his arm in a parody of comfort, but looks smug as anything.

Jaskier decides he likes this version of himself, even if the idea of _being_ him is... terrifying, to say the least.

"I... suppose I'm alright with that," he says. "If I thought I was able to get in and out of the tub on my own, I'd argue, but..."

"You're not," Geralt says, his tone clearly his own this time, and as unyielding as ever. "You were unconscious for nearly two hours after you landed in our camp."

Dandelion nods solemnly in agreement.

"Honestly I'm too tired to argue," he says, and finds on a moment's thought that it's... actually true. He's just had so much pain and uncertainty since this all started, and he's utterly drained. 

"Right," Geralt says, shifting and stepping back slightly. He doesn't seem _entirely_ pleased with this situation, but - like Jaskier himself, if he wasn't so tired - doesn't seem to have an angle to argue against it. "Jask— uh. Dandelion. Get me if you need translation? I'll be. Just outside."

Dandelion signs something, then shoos Geralt out of the room before turning back to Jaskier with a little smile and holding out his hand to help him up.

It’s surprisingly quick work to get into the bathroom, despite how shaky Jaskier’s legs are. Dandelion is, it seems, no delicate flower under his baby face. Which really Jaskier expected, given the fact that he knows he himself is made of tougher stuff than most people assume, but it’s one thing to know you’re not some weak little slip of a thing, and one to feel the strength in muscles under your arm, keeping you upright as you stagger forward.

The tub is more of a pool; large, stone-carved, and set into the floor, and the water is steaming when they walk in. Dandelion deposits Jaskier on a little stool next to the edge, and plucks at Jaskier’s shirt before gesturing to the tub and then politely turning his back.

“I suppose that means ‘undress and slide yourself in’, then?” Jaskier asks, a bit amused. Dandelion makes an affirmative gesture over his shoulder, but doesn’t turn around.

Like Jaskier not calling out his familiar nervous fidgets, Dandelion is apparently giving him the small dignity of undressing himself despite the fact that they both know more or less what he looks like underneath.

He gets his clothes off relatively easily, though his trousers take a bit of wiggling since he can’t balance while standing, and slides into the nearly-but-not-quite-painfully hot water with a groan. The heat feels _insanely_ good against... well, everything sore. Which is pretty much all of him.

Once he’s in the water, which seems to be slightly clouded from minerals or salts, Dandelion starts puttering around the room in a way that feels distinctly familiar.

“Are you going to insist on washing my hair and rubbing chamomile on my lovely bottom?” Jaskier asks with a faint smile, resting his head on the comfortably curved edge of the pool. Dandelion’s shoulders shake slightly in a silent laugh and he rolls his eyes and shakes his head in what seems to be fond exasperation.

“Well,” Jaskier allows, sinking further into the water and closing his eyes, “I suppose my lovely bottom doesn’t need the chamomile, anyway.”

He doesn’t fall asleep, but he drifts into a sort of drowsy, half-conscious doze, listening to the soft pad of Dandelion’s footsteps as he gathers Jaskier’s dirty clothes, straightens some things on a shelf, leaves what sounds like some linens for drying off near the edge of the pool, and generally just lets Jaskier relax.

Eventually, though, he taps the top of Jaskier’s head lightly, and Jaskier forces his eyes open enough that he can look up at Dandelion. The younger man is smiling crookedly, and holding a bit of soap and a small bottle of something that is probably meant for his hair. His trousers are rolled up as well as his shirtsleeves, and Jaskier huffs a laugh.

“No chamomile but definitely hair washing, then?” he asks. Dandelion nods, then wobbles the hand with the soap in it. It’s a vague gesture, but Jaskier understands the intent well enough. _Yes, if you want me to._ “That sounds nice,” he admits, and pushes himself away from the side of the pool so he can duck his hair under the water. It’s likely more than a little disgusting at this point - he can’t imagine being pulled apart and pieced back together again is good for your hygiene.

Dandelion sits on the edge of the pool with his feet in the water, and Jaskier settles back between his legs. The soap smells to be low in lye, and probably won’t irritate his scalp, he thinks with a bit of relief as Dandelion runs it over his hair, building a slight lather before putting the bar down and working the soap into his hair.

If he’s even half as good at washing hair as Dandelion is, he can’t imagine why Geralt hasn’t _constantly_ asked him to wash his hair all these years. The fingers on his scalp are just firm enough to work out dirt and sweat while being gentle on tangles, and it feels _amazing_.

By the time he’s rinsed the soap out, and been further treated by whatever concoction of moisturizers Dandelion got from (judging by the little waggling finger gesture he made when asked) Yennefer, Jaskier is relaxed enough that he feels ready to fall asleep for the next decade right here in the slowly cooling bath. Dandelion manages to get him out, though, with _much_ tugging and many stern looks, and dried and bundled into a loose set of linen pajamas before tucking him back into bed.

Dandelion sticks his head out of the door to tug Geralt in to translate something, but Jaskier’s already drifting off by the time he hears Geralt’s familiar rumbling voice say something about food when he wakes up, and then sleep claims him.

* * *

After a few false starts of only an hour or so of consciousness, he finally wakes without lingering exhaustion in the middle of the night an unknown number of days after his arrival, and finds himself almost immediately _painfully_ bored. He wishes he could play, or write, or even just check to see if anything he owns needs mending, but it’s been at least two painful unmakings since he last had any of his things.

At a loss for what else he could do, he tucks his feet into a pair of soft slippers by the bed and pads out into the house to explore. Yen hadn’t seemed upset when he sleepily wandered out alone earlier in search of the kitchen, so he can only assume that he won’t be stumbling over any booby traps or unsuspecting nobles or what have you.

He stops in the kitchen and finds a basket of apples in the pantry, which makes for a nice easy snack to tide him over until breakfast and while he wanders. It seems like an unreasonably large house for only three — well, _four_ , if he counts himself — people, but it’s such a perfectly _Yen_ sort of unreasonableness that it feels almost comforting.

He finds a library that seems promising, if it weren’t so dark and he weren’t feeling restless, as well as some empty bedrooms, some sort of sitting room, and a study, before he finally hears signs that he’s not the only person awake this late.

He follows the familiar sound of lute music into what seems to be a solarium, lit by a few scattered candles and a lantern on a little table next to where Dandelion’s curled up on a loveseat, playing absently and apparently directionless, despite the journal sitting open on the arm of the sofa in easy reach.

Dandelion clearly hasn’t heard Jaskier’s soft padding footsteps, because his focus is fully on the lute in his lap, his fingers plucking out a slow, almost heartsick melody, an absently maudlin expression on his usually bright face.

This is not something that Jaskier is supposed to see. This isn’t something _anyone_ is supposed to see, he thinks. But he’s here now, and there’s something that twists in his chest to see himself so young (even if he knows Dandelion isn’t as young as he looks) and so sad.

He clears his throat softly, and Dandelion’s expression schools into something less sad before he looks up, going from thoughtful to surprised once he actually catches sight of Jaskier in the doorway. 

“Sorry for interrupting,” Jaskier says softly. “Er, and for not being Geralt, who I figure you were expecting.”

Dandelion smiles faintly and shakes his head dismissively before waving Jaskier in and putting his lute aside on the empty space next to him. Jaskier settles in a chair angled next to the loveseat, tucking his feet up under him in a mirror of Dandelion’s own position.

Dandelion flipped a couple of pages ahead in his journal and scribbled with his pencil briefly before holding the journal out to Jaskier. Jaskier doesn’t even need to take it to read the familiar handwriting in the light of the lantern between them.

_Can’t sleep?_

“I think I’ve slept enough for a full week of sleepless nights,” Jaskier says with a sigh. “It’s nice to feel rested again, though. It’s just a bit irritatingly happened in the middle of the night.”

Dandelion huffs a little silent laugh, writing more. _There’s so little to do in the middle of the night, I agree._

"Especially when I haven't got any of my things," Jaskier sighs "It's not as satisfying to compose without an instrument and a place to write it down."

Dandelion raises his eyebrows, then reaches to his side and pats his lute, tilting his head inquisitively. Jaskier's rather impressed - though not surprised - at how well Dandelion expresses himself without words.

"I... can I be honest?" Jaskier starts. Dandelion nods, so Jaskier presses ahead to prod against something that he's worried will hurt more than necessary. "I don't want to sing in front of you or Geralt. It doesn't seem fair, with..." he gestures vaguely at Dandelion. "I can't imaginenot being able to sing."

Dandelion grimaces and looks down at his journal without writing anything for a long moment, his fingers fidgeting at the edges of the paper. But then he starts scribbling, clearly having something to say despite the awkwardness of the topic.

_I couldn't either, at first_ , the words say when he finally holds the page out for Jaskier to read. _I was a mess for a while. I don't actually remember a lot of those first couple of weeks. I adjusted, though._

"I notice you didn't say you _got over_ it," Jaskier says softly, not really able to stop seeing those words in front of his eyes even after Dandelion pulls the journal back. He glances up to see Dandelion smiling sadly, his fingertips resting lightly on the neck of his lute briefly. Jaskier's chest tightens for this man who is, essentially, himself. For the loss he suffered that still affects him in ways that even Yen and Geralt may not realize. "Do they know?"

Dandelion shakes his head sharply. _Yen might know a bit_ , he writes, _because she gets in my head sometimes, the darling bitch. But she knows I'd be dead without what she did and that I'm grateful._

"But not Geralt?" Jaskier wagers. Dandelion sighs deeply, the kind of sigh that should make more sound than just the near-silent huff of air if the world had been kinder to him.

_I couldn't play for a couple of years after it happened. Geralt was the one with the wishes._ Dandelion doesn't have to elaborate, really - Jaskier knows what Geralt can be like, the sorts of things he feels responsibility for whether or not it's reasonable or right for him to do so.

"He blamed himself for a djinn's cruelty," Jaskier murmurs.

_He said once that he felt like he'd stolen my music._ Dandelion looks tired and a little lost as he hands the journal over for Jaskier to read. _I can't tell him how much I miss it, because he'll blame himself even though I've long since forgiven any fault he had in it. I wish I'd been brave enough to tell him, before then. How I felt. So I could've said it out loud._

Jaskier smooths his fingertips over the paper as he rereads the words Dandelion wrote. "How did you feel?" he asks quietly, looks up to meet Dandelion's eyes, searching for something he doesn't know how to identify. It's not like this is the first place he's landed where he and Geralt were together, but having quiet moments to be able to talk about it have been few and far between.

Dandelion gently slips the journal out from under Jaskier's hand.He writes, pauses, then cautiously holds it out to Jaskier.

_I think you know I loved him,_ it says, _because you love him, too, don't you?_

Jaskier rubs a hand over his face and looks away, into the darker shadows at the edges of the room. Dandelion lets the silence go on, lets Jaskier turn his thoughts over without interruption.

"At least one Geralt I've met has told me to tell him, if-- _when_ we find each other again," Jaskier says finally. "That if he was as similar as it seemed from what I told him, he would feel the same, because there's no way he couldn't, he's just scared." He looks back at Dandelion. "Would you say the same thing?"

Jaskier's actually rather comforted by the fact that Dandelion purses his lips and frowns thoughtfully instead of just immediately agreeing. Jaskier fully believes that the bard-Geralt had believed what he said, but he can't quite make himself seriously consider being honest about his feelings based on that.

_If you never find him, will you regret never having told him that you love him?_ The question pressed into his hands is not what he expected, and he stares at it for a long moment, turning it over. _Will_ he regret it, if he never manages to find his Geralt again, never manages to get home? He'll regret a lot of things he didn't do or say, but is that one of them? Surely not, considering Jaskier's plan has been to take his love to the grave even before all of this happened.

But... he glances back up the page. _I wish I'd been brave enough to tell him_. This is a version of him who _has_ confessed his love, and had it returned, and he _still_ feels this regret. Because the ability to speak those words into the world, for Geralt to _hear_ that he's loved, even if he didn't reciprocate it, was that important when he no longer could.

"Yes," Jaskier says, his voice thin and choked. "Fuck, yes, I'd regret it for the rest of my life."

Dandelion nods sympathetically and takes the journal back for a moment before holding it back out.

_When you find him again, tell him you love him for your own sake._ Jaskier glances up to find Dandelion smiling wryly at him. He pulls the journal back and adds, _Even if he doesn't love you, he'll probably be relieved enough to have you back that he won't be too weird about it._

Jaskier can't help but laugh at that, even though it's not really funny. "If he doesn't feel the same, maybe he'll assume I'm just hysterical," he giggles. "Maybe I will be. Or am now. _Fuck_."

Dandelion reaches out and pats his knee supportively. Jaskier realizes with only half a sense of surprise that he'll miss Dandelion when the next pull happens and he ends up somewhere else.

"You should tell him, I think," he blurts out. Dandelion frowns and tilts his head. "Geralt. You should tell him that you miss singing," Jaskier clarifies.

Dandelion's lips press into a thin line and he pulls his hand back, shaking his head.

"He loves you, right?" Jaskier asks, not bothering to wait for an answer before continuing. "He wants to know you. To know that he's not _hurting_ you. If you're still sad about it sometimes, you should be allowed to be."

Dandelion doesn't move for a moment, and Jaskier worries he might have overstepped, but then he lifts his pencil to write, and while brief, it's longer than 'no'.

_You might be right_ , is all it says, but it makes Jaskier smile a little.

"Of course I am, I'm older than you," he says archly. "I'm wise and learned and you should respect that about me."

Dandelion's shoulders shake with laughter, and Jaskier gets a small cushion thrown in his face.

"I suppose that's disbelief and a refusal to respect one's elders, then?" he asks with a grin. Dandelion grins back and gestures rudely in a way that Jaskier absolutely does not need to know any sign to understand.

This is better than how Jaskier thought this night would go, after that nightmare, and he's so fucking glad.

Dandelion's grin softens, though it doesn't quite fall, and his fingers twitch over his lute for a moment before scribbling a quick question and holding it out to Jaskier, not looking up at him.

_Would you mind singing something for me?_

"Something specific, I assume?" Jaskier asks quietly. Dandelion nods, gaze locked on his lap. Jaskier reaches over to grasp his wrist, smiling when Dandelion looks up finally. "Of _course_ I will," he says. "What song?"

Dandelion flips back, almost to the front of the journal, and holds it out. The song is neatly written and notated, which means if he's anything like Jaskier, he wrote it in the last journal he'd had, and transcribed it to have with him even once that journal was filled. It's not the most impressive work Jaskier's seen, even from himself. It's melody seems simple, the lyrics aren't particularly hard to follow. It's a love song, simple and sincere and carefully crafted.

"This one's important, isn't it?" He asks quietly. Dandelion nods. "Right," Jaskier says, squaring his shoulders. He will give this performance the greatest care and attention. He's acting as someone else's voice, singing a song he thinks it's likely has never been sung aloud before.

"Walk me through it, and then we can play it."

They spend the better part of an hour going over the melody, the accompaniment, and doing tiny little tweaks based on Dandelion finally having a voice to sing the song, and finding he wants to change things here and there. The grey haze of impending dawn is growing in the sky by the time they both feel ready and Dandelion starts plucking out the musical introduction in earnest. Jaskier doesn't sing at his most powerful, both in an effort to not wake anyone else in the house but also because this song is more personal and tender than that. His voice still resonates through the solarium, twining together with Dandelion's delicately played lute, into something more beautiful than the simplicity of the composition would imply.

And if Jaskier catches sight of Yennefer hovering in the doorway behind Dandelion, listening as one of his songs is given voice for the first time since she's known him, he doesn't breathe a word.

* * *

Life in Yen's manor, while obviously temporary, quickly falls into a routine for Jaskier. Breakfast with Dandelion and Yen, watching Geralt go through his forms. An hour or so with Yen as she prods at the Chaos seeped into him. She never seems to have answers, but she swears she has plans to at least improve the experience for him, and he trusts her well enough to believe her. If nothing else, he thinks she's determined not to fail to help him _somehow_. Something about the firm line of her mouth.

After that, he takes a soak, or reads a bit, and then lunch with Geralt and Dandelion. Yen, it seems, prefers to take that meal alone. Something about needing her space so that she doesn't strangle her beloved idiots, according to Dandelion. Afternoons are for sitting with Dandelion while he plays, sometimes singing along to familiar folk songs, or teaching him an instrumental composition he'd written for Ciri, once upon a time.

Geralt hovers, pretending he isn't. Dandelion rolls his eyes fondly and pretends not to notice. Jaskier asks him once if it makes him sad, having Geralt hovering and listening to Jaskier sing, when Dandelion can't, and Jaskier gets a gentle smile in response.

_Maybe I would've, but I think I'm just glad he gets to hear my voice again, even if it's not really me_ , is the response. Jaskier thinks he can understand that. He's glad, at least, that he isn't causing the kind of pain he had to the version of him who had been a witcher. However charming and delightful it had been to play with Geralt-the-bard, it had ached to realize how much he'd hurt his counterpart, that time around.

Supper is all four of them, shockingly loud and full of wine and laughter, for all that Dandelion can't contribute aloud. And then sleep, which is becoming easier to slip back into when he wakes up after an unpleasant dream. It feels like he's in a bit of a holding pattern, admittedly, but it's a pleasant holding pattern at least, and Jaskier cannot find it in him to complain.

He's been with them nearly a week, he thinks, when there's finally some progress on his... situation.

“I _knew_ I had a phylactery!” Yen declares as she strides into the kitchen, startling both Dandelion and Jaskier from their mid-afternoon snack.

Dandelion signs something, almost hesitantly, and Jaskier thinks that even without understanding the signs that he knows more or less what his counterpart just said.

“Good for you?” he offers, and is gratified when Dandelion gestures to him with a satisfied little nod.

Yen rolls her eyes and places it on the table in front of Jaskier. It just looks like a pretty box made of panels of colored glass, to him, but he assumes it has some sort of magical property that makes it more than that.

“ _This_ will let me siphon some of the chaos off of you,” she tells him, speaking slowly as though he might struggle to understand the concept. “So that hopefully the resonances that keep sending you to different worlds won’t _hurt_ so much.”

“No need to be condescending,” he says primly. He almost feels himself again, despite everything, getting to banter back and forth with Yen, not in pain and not exhausted. Dandelion signs something that looks distinctly rude next to him.

“Well if you’re going to use _that_ kind of language, petal, you can sleep in your _own_ bed tonight,” she tells Dandelion, who scowls, but says nothing further. “And _you_ ,” she turns to Jaskier, “can simply say ‘thank you, Yennefer’ once I’ve finished, because this will be a pain in the ass to do.”

"Um," Jaskier says with a grimace. "How literal of a pain in the ass are we talking about?"

Yen's expression softens slightly. "For you, likely none, or simply some discomfort. For me, metaphorical because it will be a fiddly bit of spellcasting, but I have absolutely no doubt that I'll be able to do it."

Jaskier feels his shoulders unwind at the assurance of no literal pain, for either of them. "Well," he says, "when can we get started?"

Dandelion raises an eyebrow and signs something, half-directed at Yen.

"Of _course_ he wants to get it done immediately," Yen responds. "The magic that's causing him to jump between worlds is unpredictable and he could disappear at any moment. If I'm going to be of any use, I have to do this _before_ that happens." Dandelion facepalms, to Yen's clear amusement. "Yes, you're quite silly not to have thought of that," she says archly, her fondness slipping through all-too-clearly to Jaskier's ear. It makes him smile.

"Well, Dandelion's silliness aside," he says, pushing to his feet, "I really would like to get it done _now_ , if possible, Yennefer."

"Obviously," Yen says. "Come on, up to my workroom. Petal, grab the pack, just in case I trigger it in the process?"

Dandelion flicks off a jaunty little salute and ducks out of the room.

"Dare I ask what 'the pack' is?" Jaskier asks as he follows Yen to her workroom.

"It's a travel pack we put together for you," she says. "That we're hoping we'll have time to shove in your arms before you go. Since you showed up here with nothing."

Jaskier's heart flutters slightly, and he finds himself blinking back tears. They care enough to try to provide him with comfort even after he's left them behind, likely to never see them again, on top of everything else.

"Thank you," he says softly. Yen sets the phylactery on a little table and doesn't turn back to him.

"Jas-- _Dandelion_ , he... put a lot of effort into befriending me," she says after a moment. "At a time when I desperately needed someone who cared about me as I was, arrogance and iciness and all. Even after I'd been unable to save his voice. You may not be him, but you're enough like him for me to feel like you deserve a little help, if I can give it."

Jaskier doesn't know how to respond, so he doesn't say anything, just reaches out and squeezes her shoulder briefly.

Then Dandelion trots in with a modest travel pack and bedroll, Yen rubs her hands together and pushes Jaskier into a chair, and they get to work.

Or, well, _Yennefer_ gets to work. She draws some symbols on the floor around Jaskier, then draws similar symbols on the tabletop around the phylactery. She lights a few candles and a mild incense, and then meets his eyes.

"Are you ready?" she asks.

He nods, unable to force a word out past the nervous lump in his throat.

She starts chanting. Nothing seems to change, other than the mood of the room. But then the air chills, seems to be charged like lightning's about to strike, and Jaskier can feel something _pulling_ at him. At his body, yes, but almost at the very _essence_ of him. It feels similar to the unmaking, but less intense, less painful. It's still not _pleasant_ , but he isn't drowning in pain.

He opens his eyes (when did he even _close_ them?) and sees what seems to be almost a haze lifting from his skin and feeding in a thin tendril into the phylactery. It starts almost milky-white, but darkens to a smokey grey as Yen chants. It darkens again, and Jaskier feels a tug of almost-pain under his skin. He lets out a hiss of discomfort at the same time as Yen winces slightly, and her chanting shifts. The pulling stops, as does the haze lifting from his skin, and the remaining haze in the air makes its way into the phylactery. Yen says a few final words, the phylactery flashes, and then she drops her hands with a deep exhale.

"Well, that's about all I can do, I think," Yen says. "But I smoothed out the... pathways, for lack of a better term, of the chaos in you, and bled off as much as I could safely." She smiles, satisfied with her work, and Jaskier... well, he can't say he feels any different, but he believes her if she says it will make a difference.

"So, it shouldn't hurt so much next time?" he asks hopefully.

"Ideally, no," Yennefer says. "If the chaos that's causing this doesn't have as much resistance, and isn't overflowing the same way, it should be able to transport you without making you feel like you're being ripped apart."

"Oh thank Melitele," Jaskier sighs in relief and starts to stand before remembering he's surrounded by arcane glyphs and such. "Can I get out of the chair without... breaking any magic?" he asks.

"Oh, yes, the spell's finished, I just need to secure the phylactery somewhere," Yen says, waving him off. "You'll probably be hungry in a few minutes, though, so you and Dandelion should probably get back to the kitchen."

Dandelion, standing out of the way and largely forgotten during the strangeness of Yen's spell, steps forward with a smile and grabs Jaskier's hand.

"Well, I guess we're getting more food, then," Jaskier agrees with a grin. He might not physically feel any different, but he still feels like a weight has been lifted off his chest, knowing that the world-hopping is likely to be less miserable next time. "Thank you again, Yen!" he calls as Dandelion pulls him out the door, and he catches a glimpse of her fondly shaking her head before he's out the doorway and out of sight.

"Thank you, too," he tells Dandelion as they reach the kitchen. "All three of you have been... _unbearably_ kind." Dandelion stops and turns to watch Jaskier's face thoughtfully. "I hadn't realized how much I needed that," Jaskier continues. "To not be... distrusted or causing pain or anything. To just have somewhere safe and calm to process things."

Dandelion smiles, then pulls Jaskier into a tight hug. It's a _very_ good hug.

"Right," Jaskier says after a moment, pulling back and pretending he hadn't teared up while being embraced. "Yen was right and I'm already starting to feel _ravenous_. Do you think we have a whole lamb, perhaps, that I can devour?"

Dandelion laughs silently, and pulls Jaskier into the kitchen after him, both of them grinning like dumb kids with not a care in the world.

It won't last. Jaskier will end up somewhere else soon that likely won't be as kind. Dandelion will have days where the loss of his voice will threaten to choke him. But right now, they're happy, and Jaskier's going to cling to that.

* * *

_He's being pulled apart apart apart, the pieces of him coming undone and free-floating in the universe, and it hurts hurts **hurts** , it's such agony he can't even scream, even if he still had a throat and mouth and lungs left to scream with and— _

Jaskier comes awake with a choked gasp to a hand on his shoulder, shaking him gently, and for a moment he thinks he's still dreaming when he meets his own eyes hovering at the edge of the bed, before his mind settles enough for him to remember where he is.

Dandelion looks concerned in the dim light of the fire still burning in the fireplace, but Jaskier can't even reassure him because he's trying to get his racing heartbeat to slow again. There's a shuffling sound in the doorway, as a sleep-rumpled Geralt makes his way in.

"Everything all right?" he rumbles, voice made rougher and deeper with sleep.

"Nightmare," Jaskier manages, struggling to even out his breathing. "It's fine."

Dandelion turns and signs something one-handedly, not letting go of his shoulder, and Geralt rumbles in response, moving closer and sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Anything we can do?" Geralt asks, and Jaskier's not sure if he's asking of his own accord or translating for Dandelion, but it doesn't really matter in the end. 

"Not really," Jaskier rasps, rubbing his face wearily. "Unless you can get me home and stop me from coming apart and ending up somewhere else again."

Both of the other men are still and silent for a moment, taking that in. Dandelion reaches out for Geralt's hand and places it on Jaskier's knee before releasing his shoulder so he can sign with both hands.

"That's the worst kind of nightmare," Gerat translates softly, as Dandelion grimaces in sympathy. "The kind that are completely reasonable to be afraid of."

"Yeah," Jaskier sighs. "I'm all right, though. I'll... just read something, I guess, until morning." There's no way he'll be able to fall asleep again after that.

Geralt and Dandelion both frown slightly, and glance at each other. It seems like they have a silent conversation for a moment - well, most silent than usual, without even a sign between them - and then Dandelion nods firmly before scrambling up and over Jaskier to tuck himself between Jaskier and the far side of his bed.

“Uh,” Jaskier says. “What’s happening?”

Dandelion signs widely, then snuggles down in the blankets and tugs at Jaskier’s waist.

“Snuggling,” Geralt says simply, and shoots a small but fond smile at Dandelion. “He always sleeps better being held, I think he figured you might have a better chance at it if you weren’t alone.”

“O-oh,” Jaskier says, and it’s funny how he would’ve thought the idea of being cuddled by alternate versions of himself and Geralt would sound awkward, but right now, in the dim light of the fire, with the memory of being all but unmade still bright in his mind...

It just sounds _wonderful_.

“We’ll leave if you’d rather,” Geralt says after a moment, “I promise he’s not _that_ pushy.”

“No!” Jaskier says quickly, possibly a bit too loudly, and ducks his head. “I mean... he’s right. It sounds... nice.”

Dandelion reaches up and pats his shoulder comfortingly, then tugs at his waist again until Jaskier huffs and lays down facing him.

"You're very insistent," he says with a tired smile, and Dandelion mirrors it before tapping him lightly on the tip of his nose.

"I think he's saying it's because he's you," Geralt rumbles, and Jaskier can't help but tense up the tiniest bit. Not because he's unused to sharing a bed with Geralt, he's done it more than once, but having Geralt curl around him, pressed against his back? He can't say he hasn't _imagined_ it, of course, but...

"I can go if you'd rather just Dandelion stay," Geralt murmurs behind him, not quite settled yet. Dandelion quirks an eyebrow questioningly.

"No, it's fine," Jaskier says, not looking away from Dandelion's all-too-knowing eyes. "Just... adjusting."

Geralt hums, but settles in, his arm slung around Jaskier's waist alongside Dandelion's, his chest not quite pressed against Jaskier's back.

"You don't have to stay either," Jaskier points out, though he realizes it's a bit late for that now. Geralt huffs, the warm air tickling the back of Jaskier's neck and causing a full-body shiver to run through him.

"I know," he says after a moment. "But I want to."

"But..." Jaskier can't actually think of anything to protest, but feels like he should. On principle. Dandelion unwinds his arm from Jaskier's waist, briefly, to press a hand against Jaskier's chest, over his heart.

"Go to sleep, Jaskier," Geralt mumbles, and Dandelion smiles and pats his chest a couple of times before wrapping his arm back around Jaskier's waist and tucking himself under Jaskier's chin. Both men are asleep within moments, as far as Jaskier can tell, and despite all his anxiety and misgivings, he finds himself melting into the warmth and weight and affection of being tucked between the two of them, and finds himself drifting off after them almost as quickly.

He wishes he could stay here until Geralt - _his_ Geralt - finds him, in this world that is soft and caring and safe and kind, and where he feels like, despite the fact he's barely more than a stranger, he's already loved.

* * *

Jaskier’s respite in Yen’s estate ends two days later.

They’re all three at supper, Yen laughingly translating a story Dandelion’s telling about Geralt from the year they spent in Mahakam while Geralt glowers and Jaskier tries not to choke on his wine, when there’s a... _tugging_ under his skin. It feels a bit like the split second before his unmakings began in the past, a split second of realization before the pain hit, but the pain never comes.

“Jaskier?” Geralt asks, and Jaskier realizes he’s dropped his wine glass just as the discomfort spikes. It never quite makes it to pain, but it’s deeply unpleasant all the same.

But not excruciating, and he appreciates that.

“Bag,” he says, voice a little strangled. “Get the bag.”

The room explodes into motion. Geralt and Dandelion both sprinting out of the room in opposite directions, and Yen coming to pull Jaskier to his feet. He flinches away from her touch instinctively, his mind flashing back again to the pain Eskel experienced just touching him when the chaos was starting to pull him apart, but she touches him without any apparent ill effects.

“Are you in any pain?” she asks, and he shakes his head.

“No,” he says. “It’s just... uncomfortable.”

“Good,” she says with a smile that he would never describe aloud as ‘relieved’, for the sake of her pride. “That’s good.”

Geralt all but skids back into the room, holding out the pack, helping Jaskier shrug into it so he’s not left trying to juggle it as he reappears in a new place with unknown potential dangers.

“Will you be all right?” Geralt asks, tone and expression solemn and— yes, that’s his worried frown. Jaskier smiles faintly.

“I love you,” he says. This seems to startle Geralt _and_ Yen, and a small corner of Jaskier’s mind preens over having surprised the sorceress in any world.

“What—“ Geralt starts, and Jaskier holds his hand up, grimacing against a stronger tug.

“He wishes he’d said it before the djinn. Dandelion,” he clarifies. “So you could hear it. And it’s true enough in it’s way from me. So... Consider it from both of us.” He smiles as widely as he can, at this amazing man who had sacrificed so much for the man he loved, for the man who Jaskier could’ve maybe been, had his life gone a little differently. “I love you.”

Geralt doesn’t seem able to respond, and if Jaskier didn’t know better, he’d say the witcher’s eyes were filling with tears. Thankfully for Geralt, perhaps for all of them, Dandelion chooses this point to come racing back into the room, his lute in his arms. He beelines directly to Jaskier, and tries to push the lute into Jaskier’s arms.

“I—” Jaskier fumbles, trying not to let it fall, feels the tugging grow more insistent. He feels like he’s starting to physically flicker out like a candle flame. “ _No_ ,” he insists, pushing the lute back at Dandelion and stepping back so the other man can’t try again. Dandelion’s wide eyes and open expression are written with worry, care, heartache. Jaskier wonders if his counterpart’s ability to, like Jaskier, fall a little bit in love with everyone he meets even extends to him.

Jaskier thinks, in a way, that maybe it does.

“Thank you,” he says, locking eyes with Dandelion. “But you need it more than I do.”

Dandelion nods, understanding and gratitude flooding his features, and gently sets it at his feet so he can sign something.

“Good luck,” Jaskier hears Geralt say, faint and almost missable, as this world rushes away from him, the chaos pulling him somewhere else.

He’ll never hear if there was more to Dandelion’s farewell than that.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: [bygodstillam](http://bygodstillam.tumblr.com)  
> discord: ruffboi#9097
> 
> come say hi! :) And please be sure to ~~like and subscribe~~ kudos and comment if you enjoyed! I live for y'all's feedback, truly ♥


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